Vivian X Goombella

I blinked behind my glasses, stunned and confused. "Did I...do something wrong? If so, I'm sorry..." "No need to apologize," Helen cut in, frost edging her cultured voice. "You've done nothing wrong, Tristan. Except be complacent." I frowned, feeling cold dread creeping through my veins. "What do you mean?" Vivian released a short, harsh sigh, as if disgusted by my ignorance. "Must we spell it out? This marriage clearly isn't working anymore. You lack ambition. I've simply outgrown you at this point. I'm doing what's necessary and best for myself by letting you go." Her icy words slammed into me like a physical attack. I stared at her lovely face I had once adored so much, now cold and remote, trying to make sense of what she was saying. Letting me go? Was she saying... Linda held out a crisp legal envelope to me. Hands shaking, I accepted it from her polished nails. The contents confirmed my worst fears - divorce papers, all drawn up and ready for my signature. My eyes scanned the conditions outlined within. The terms were heavily skewed in Vivian's favor. "This...says I would get nothing," I murmured in stunned disbelief. "No alimony, no remaining rights to shared assets or property..." "Naturally," Linda replied coolly, inspecting her manicure. "You contributed absolutely nothing of value to this marriage financially. Therefore, you should leave with what you brought to it - nothing."

In h⁠er first life, Vivian Scott w⁠as n⁠othing mo‌re than a shad‌ow‌, loyal‌, obedient, and eas⁠ily discarde⁠d. Betray⁠ed by her h⁠usband and her best friend,‍ s‌he was murdered for her inh⁠e⁠ritan​ce. But death i‌sn’t the end⁠. Whe‌n Vivian wakes up two years in t‌he past, s‌he⁠ refu​ses to be the same woman again.‍ This time, she knows every l‍ie, e​very be‌traya​l, and exactly ho​w her enemie‌s wi‍ll strike.‌ To win, she n⁠eeds‌ po​wer. Darlington! the⁠ city’s colde​st and most feared billio⁠naire, needs a wi​f⁠e to secure h⁠i​s empire. Vivi‌a‍n nee​ds a wea⁠pon to execute h​er revenge. Their d‌eal is simple:⁠ one year o⁠f marriage, no emoti​ons, absolute l‍oyalty. But as their fa⁠ke r​e​lationship begins‌ to blur int‌o some​th‌ing dan‌gerously real, secrets unravel, and the past refuses to stay buri‌ed. B‍ec​ause Vi‍via‌n isn’t just rewrit‍i⁠n‍g her fa‍te… Someone else is watching. S‍omeone who k​new she would di‍e. Someone who wanted her to come b⁠a⁠ck. And this time, th⁠e trap m‌ay be d‍eadlie⁠r th‍an‍ the one that kille‌d her.

My mom died giving birth to me. They couldn't save her. My dad? He dumped me outside a prison and ran. Didn't even look back. It was five degrees. I was basically frozen. Barely breathing. Later, a guard said the whole max block lost it that night. One hundred eight inmates—death row, life sentences—went crazy. Slamming doors. Smashing windows. Yelling they wanted to keep me. In the end, they filed a letter. Not a breakout plan. A custody request. Somehow... it got approved. From that day on, I had 108 dads. But growing up, I found out the truth. They weren't criminals. On paper, they were dead—killed in the line of duty. In reality, they were still out there, serving. Eighteen years later, I got into one of the top high schools—with the highest score in the State of Ashford. On the fifth day, I beat the rich girl, Vivian Cobbley, by one point on a mock exam. Next thing I knew, my name was all over the bulletin board: [Riley Ray, daughter of murderers!] Vivian cornered me in the bathroom and shoved my head into a toilet. "Your dads are killers. That filth's in you too." She beat me so hard I dragged her down when we went over the second-floor railing. When I woke up, the Dean of Students was right in my face, finger in my face. "No surprise you're violent. It's in your blood. Call your criminal dads. Now." I shook. "Mr. Todd... you sure you want me to call them?"

I was vacationing in St. Moritz, Switzerland with my mother when Vivian from the Valenti family office sent me a photo. The woman in it lay on the cold marble floor of the estate, her coat stripped away, her body covered in blood. No one stood near her, as if she had already been set aside like a problem to be dealt with. It was hard to tell if she was still breathing. A voice message followed, her tone sharp and controlled. “Elena, don’t assume that marrying the Don and being called Donna means your small-town family can step onto Valenti property.” “The lakeside estate Mr. Valenti just acquired is a family asset. Letting someone like your mother stay there breaks rules.” “I act on the Don’s behalf. It is my responsibility to remove people who should not be there.” “This is what happens when someone crosses a line.” I went still. Then I looked up at my mother sitting across from me. She held her tea, calm as ever. I lowered my eyes and enlarged the photo. The moment I saw the woman’s face, my chest tightened. It was not my mother. It was Luca’s. I called Vivian immediately. “Have you lost your mind? That’s Luca’s mother.” She gave a light laugh, her tone cool and distant. “Mr. Valenti has always been clear. Your mother is yours. His mother is his.” “The Valenti family does not take in outsiders.” “You may be Donna, but that does not mean your family steps inside with you.”

It was a choice she had to make...for herself and her people... All she wanted was to find that happily ever after she had always read about but then it was too far from her reach. A human sent to be a bride of an alpha. He not only hated her but he wanted her dead. He wanted her far away from him but she was keen on making him fall madly in love with her. Vivian knew too well she was playing with fire but to get what she wanted, she was more than ready to get burned...

I had been secretly married to Vivian Grant, my CEO wife, for six years, yet she never once let our son call her Mom. After she missed his birthday again because of her male assistant, I finally put the divorce papers in front of her and walked away for good with our son. The woman who had always seemed so controlled finally fell apart. She stormed into the office demanding to know where I’d gone. But this time, neither my son nor I were coming back.

A ruthless man, an unyielding soul, and a wrongful entanglement… Four years ago, she had sent him to prison. It was only after he was executed that a look of obvious relief spread across her face. Four years later, he pulled her into hell. She was humiliated before his eyes, yet his hatred still burned high. As part of his cunningly-devised retribution, he was going to overwhelm her bit by bit, prudently and slowly luring her into his web of vengeance. To Edward Levin, Vivian Carraway would always be his possession, but it seemed like things would not go as he wished...

They killed me. Betrayed me. Buried me like I was nothing. I was Sera Nightshade, Luna of the Crescent Moon Pack, the most powerful werewolf territory in North America. For five years, I stood beside Damien Blackwood, my Alpha mate, believing in our bond, our love, our future. I gave him everything: my loyalty, my body, my soul. On the night of our official mating ceremony, with the full moon as our witness and the entire pack gathered to celebrate, he made his choice. Her. Vivian Cross, his childhood sweetheart, his secret mistress, the she-wolf he'd been hiding in the shadows for years. In front of everyone, he rejected our mate bond and claimed her instead. The pain of a broken mate bond should have killed me instantly, but I survived. Barely. That's when things got worse. They couldn't let me live. A rejected Luna who knew too many pack secrets, who had too much support, who might challenge his rule. So Damien and Vivian made sure I'd never speak again. They poisoned me, wrapped my body in silver chains, and threw me off Widow's Peak into the frozen river below. I felt every second of my death. The silver burning through my veins. The ice-cold water filling my lungs. The darkness swallowing me whole.

On our seventh wedding anniversary, my husband's childhood sweetheart called, claiming a burst pipe at her home. Without a second thought, he ditched our celebration to play handyman. Moments later, Vivian Duffy's social media lit up with a smug post. [No matter when or where, my Superman arrives at one call. How should I reward him?] Accompanying the post was a photo of scattered condoms and torn clothing on the floor. I forced a smile, picked up my phone, and dialed a number. "My pipe is broken. Care to fix it?"

In my fifth year of marriage to Dominic, I'd become the woman all of Chicago knew as the crazy one — the mental case. Jealousy gnawed at me constantly, and my temper frayed easily, my emotions sharp and unsteady, unravelling more with each passing day. So it only made sense when he slid a divorce agreement across the table. "Vivian's pregnant. A Harrington heir can't be born illegitimate, and Mrs. Harrington can't be a lunatic." "Once she's had the baby, I’ll marry you again, and you'll still be Mrs. Harrington." I was forced to sign my name, then locked away in a private sanatorium a hundred miles from the city. The first year, I waited with desperate hope for him to come take me home. Instead, he handed me an ultrasound report. "Twins — a boy and a girl. Vivian's pregnant again. Just wait a little longer." The second year, he had electric fencing installed around the sanatorium grounds. "Harrington Corp is going public. We can't afford any slip-ups right now." By the fifth year, he simply called to tell me to wait one more year. He must have expected me to scream and lose control the way I always did. But this time, I just nodded calmly. "Alright. However long it takes." After all. I didn't have much time left anyway.